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“Not everything,” she says, and I feel my stomach clench.
No. Not yet. I want to tell her, but this isn’t the time. I glare at her, hoping she’ll let this go. I need her to, just for a little while.
She glares back. In fact, she reaches out with one leg, digging her big toe into my thigh. “I’m giving you a chance to come clean here. Don’t fuck it up, mister. Last chance . . . tell me about when you took my laptop.”
Fuck. How could she know? There’s no way she could know. No way she should know. But there’s knowledge in her eyes.
Somehow, she found out why I was there.
“I don’t know what you know or how you found out, but yes,” I tell her, keeping my voice calm, “there was more to it than your laptop.”
She growls but retrieves her toe as she sits up fully, listening intently. “Spill it. I want all your guts laid bare on this couch, right here, right now, or so help me God, I will do it for you. Gut you like Rambo in the middle of a jungle, but I’ll use a dull, rusty pair of scissors and make it slow and painful.” She makes a stabbing motion, but thankfully, her hand is empty for now.
“I don’t doubt that.” I sigh, scrubbing at my face and looking at the ceiling. There’s so much to unpack, and I haven’t had a chance to figure out how to tell this story, where it begins, or where it stops.
So I’ll have to wing it. “I did steal your laptop, obviously. But I wasn’t there for that. I was there to steal something much more valuable.”
Was it just last night that I told myself I’d have to tell her? Back then, it felt academic, easy. Now, I’m scared shitless to tell her the whole ugly truth. I don’t want to see her look at me with disdain, with the same disgust I’ve become too familiar with. Or worse, disappointment. I saw that on my parents’ faces for so long, so many times. When I was younger, I enjoyed being the hellion who challenged their beliefs. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how unimportant that is. The way I live my life only truly affects me. Until now.
“The Black Rose,” Poppy fills in when I don’t say it. “You snatched it, replaced it with a fake.”
I grunt an agreement. Not much else to do.
Poppy leaps from her end of the couch to where I’m sitting, landing in my lap, but not in a good way. Her palms swat and slap at my chest, more annoying than painful. What hurts are the barbs she’s spitting as she does it . . .
“You son of a bitch!” Swat.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Slap.
“Lying asshole!” A yank of my ear, which actually does make my eyes water in pain.
She starts pounding at my chest, each fist punctuated with the same word. “Why . . . why . . . why?”
I take it all, not fighting or even protecting myself, which somehow enrages her more. She pokes me in the chest, right over my heart, with a jagged fingernail that she’s obviously been chewing on in her worry. “Why didn’t you tell me? You lied to me!”
She goes for another slap, and this time, I catch her wrist gently, hugging her flailing arms tight against my chest. She struggles, but I quiet her with a growled plea. “Poppy. Listen to me.”
When she stills, I can see the glitter of tears in her eyes. Quieter, and less sure, she asks, “Was it all a lie?”
I cup her face, releasing her hands slowly as a sign of trust. “No. It’s not all a lie. I swear it.”
She sniffs, pouting and hurt, and I can see the deep pain beneath the puffed-out lip. “I don’t believe you.”
I swallow and let it all drop. I have to now. “If it was all a lie, I wouldn’t be here now. You’ve got your laptop back, and you more than covered for me with my family. If this wasn’t real, I would’ve already moved on.”
I run my thumb over her lip, hating the pain I’ve caused. Her eyes narrow, scouring my words for half-truths and lies. She’s looking for loopholes, the way she does her book plots, making sure every nuance is sealed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that next door is a cover home, a place to hole up away from my actual house so I don’t leave a trail. I’ve lived in a dozen or more places like that over the past few years. Poppy, I stayed because of you. If not, I would have blown out of here a week ago.”
She huffs. “I hate it when you use logic on me, especially when I’ve got a good fit happening. For a damn good fucking reason,” she reminds me with one last love pat, this time to my cheek. Even as she snaps at me, her anger is waning. She sags, slipping off my lap to the couch beside me. “Tell me the full story. All of it, every detail.”
